


don't know what happened (it's all a crazy game)

by txzier



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cause I Said So, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, i guess, i watched Andrew Rannells sing 'the man that got away' and my brain itched until i wrote this, ive forgotten how to tag, no beta we die like men, so unedited lmao, ummm - Freeform, whizzer is a lounge singer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:00:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29695401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/txzier/pseuds/txzier
Summary: God, Marvin takes another sip of his drink,What am I doing here?The answer is clear when the stage lights go down and the bar falls into a hush. The anticipation grows as the band begins to play, leading them into an easy swing. Couples sway on the dancefloor, resting on one another as they move to the strings.“The night is bitter, the stars have lost their glitter, the winds grow colder, and suddenly you're older.”
Relationships: Whizzer Brown/Marvin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	don't know what happened (it's all a crazy game)

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first falsettos fic, so it's entirely ooc and extremely self-indulgent!
> 
> basically, i love the thought of lounge singer whizzer cause every time i see andrew rannells perform anything my one braincell goes "would whizzer sing this to marvin?" so when i saw [the man that got away](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ev6_S1kP9M) that braincell was buzzing. 
> 
> hope you enjoy!

_I shouldn’t be here_ , Marvin thinks as he hands the bartender a ten. _He’ll kill me if he finds me here._

The bar is crowded, packed from wall to wall with patrons, pretty women and even prettier men. The tables are covered in drinks and purses, tiny lamps warmly exposing interlocked fingers and lit cigarettes left smoking in ashtrays. The band plays something mellow, bathed in pale blue light, an empty microphone stand centre stage. 

A glass of whiskey is placed in front of him. Marvin lifts a hand in thanks and spins around on his stool. He’s not the only one alone at the bar. Men are scattered along the wood, their hair rumpled and their suit jackets undone, souvenirs of a long day of existing. Marvin studies them as he drinks. Some are handsome, some are not, some are too shrouded in darkness for Marvin to make out more than a flash of teeth or the smouldering orange of a cherry. He meets a few of their eyes. Most look away quickly, a few linger, their eyes trailing over his form. He considers abandoning his seat, of sitting beside another pretty boy and trying to forget the ache in his chest. 

But no pretty boy has eyes of deep brown or a sharp smile reserved just for him. No man at this bar has their hair meticulously styled to look effortless, nor a jacket Marvin picked slung over their shoulders. Despite the months of emotionally forced celibacy, he doesn’t want any of these pretty boys. The only pretty boy he wants has probably forgotten he existed. 

_ God, _ Marvin takes another sip of his drink. _What_ _ am I doing here? _

The answer is clear when the stage lights go down, and the bar falls into a hush. The anticipation grows as the band begins to play, leading them into an easy swing. Couples sway on the dancefloor, resting on one another as they move to the strings. 

_ “The night is bitter, _

_ The stars have lost their glitter, _

_ The winds grow colder, _

_ And suddenly you're older,” _

Whizzer looks so amazing Marvin feels his breath leave him in a rush. Clad in an all-black three-piece suit, the golden buttons glinting in the spotlight. His hair is a little longer, gelled at the sides in that familiar way of his. As he sways to the song, a strand becomes dislodged, falling in his eyes and bouncing with every movement. The sight of it makes Marvin’s heart ache, his fingers itching to brush it back like he used too. 

Whizzer looks amazing, but he also looks sombre, his eyes fixed somewhere far away as he sings, and Marvin knows the feeling all too well. There are moments he catches himself staring into nothing, wishing for a comforting hand on the small of his back or the press of lips to his cheek. As his ex-lover sings, Marvin understands why he looks so morose. The song is unfamiliar, but the words are clear. 

_ “And all because, _

_ Of the man, _

_ That got away.” _

Whizzer’s voice is melancholy, and it sails through the bar and digs into his chest.  _ Fuck _ , Marvin thinks, brushing his own hair back to stop his hands from shaking,  _ I shouldn’t be here. I was never supposed to see this. _

_ “The man that won you, _

_ Has run off and undone you, _

_ That great beginning, _

_ Has seen its final inning, _

_ Don't know what happened, _

_ It's all a crazy game.” _

Marvin covers his mouth with a hand, swallowing the lump suddenly lodged in his throat. 

_ “I don’t like this game anymore, Marvin,” Whizzer had said over the chessboard, his voice cold. Slumped over the table, he had looked like a lost child, eyes searching the black and white squares for an answer that would never come. “I think we should call it quits.”  _

Whizzer croons, and Marvin trembles. He’s never heard the man sing like this. Whizzer usually filled their silence with silly songs, light tunes that he sang with a grin on his face. He would serenade Marvin with words of love and happiness, pulling him into his arms to sway in the kitchen. Though the words were never serious, never meant to be taken literally, Marvin would let himself be led, resting his head on Whizzer’s shoulder as the world outside their apartment ceased to be. 

Whizzer isn’t joking now. No, now he’s closing his eyes, and belting words meant for a man he doesn’t know is watching. Marvin closes his eyes, letting Whizzer’s voice wash over him. 

_ “Good riddance, good-bye _

_ Every trick of his you're on to _

_ But fools will be fools _

_ And where's he gone to.” _

_ “I’m sick of your tricks and your games Marvin!” Whizzer had shouted, eyes filled with frustrated tears. A suitcase lays by his feet, kicked over in a moment of passion. Whizzer points a finger in his face, “I’m done with your shit! I’m done with the stupid chess games, the family charades, and your stupid house rules! I’m done with us!”  _

It’s too much. Whizzer’s voice overwhelms him, and he finds himself almost gasping for fresh air. Marvin shoves himself to his feet, abandoning his drink and stumbling towards the exit. The music follows him as he reaches the door. He shoulders it open, Whizzer’s voice still ringing in his ears as he emerges onto the street. 

_ “Ever since this world began _

_ There is nothing sadder than _

_ A one-man man _

_ Looking for the man _

_ That got away.” _

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Whizzer shoves the back door open, gasping his first breath of fresh air in hours. While he loves the club and he owes the owner a great debt of gratitude, it's only so long before Whizzer shoves him against a wall and demands he diverts his profit from hookers and blow to a functioning ventilation system. 

The back alley is deserted at Whizzer’s first glance, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He leans against the cool brick, tipping his head back and closing his eyes, letting the breeze wash over him. His fingers twitch, his lungs begging for the burn of a cigarette, but as he pats his pockets, he realises he left them at home. 

_ “I really wish you would stop smoking those things,” Marvin had said one morning over breakfast after Whizzer had returned from his smoke break on the fire escape. Whizzer had just scoffed and busied himself with making a cup of coffee. Marvin had only sighed, then softly said, “They cause cancer, you know? A man as pretty as you should age gracefully, not waste away in a hospital bed.”  _

“Fuck,” Whizzer murmurs, lifting a hand to press against his temple, trying to stave off a growing headache. 

_ Marvin _ . 

Whizzer tries not to think too much about the man, but he finds himself unable to think of anything else in quiet moments. It’s been nearly two years since he saw him, but the phantom feeling of fingertips trailing down his back still haunts Whizzer. It’s not like he hasn’t felt the same touch a hundred times over since they ended things, but it’s Marvin’s touch his mind always turns towards. No other man did it so reverently, so lovingly it made Whizzer’s chest swell with emotions he wasn’t prepared to feel. 

The silence of the alley offers no distraction, so Whizzer hums to himself in a bid to ignore the tightness behind his eyes.  _ It’s just the song _ , he thinks as he hums the words. _That_ _ song always reminds me of him. _

It’s a crowd favourite, especially among the pretty boys who line the bar just to see him. A Judy Garland number always makes them jitter with excitement. Whizzer tries not to encourage them in that way, as pretty boys are surprisingly not his type ( _ strong arms, messy hair, a fat wallet _ ), but he was always a whore for attention, so if singing some ballad from a movie, he’s never seen gets him tips and drinks, he’ll croon ‘till the cows come home. It would be fine if most of the songs didn’t remind him of  _ Marvin _ , of late-night whispers and silly games and stupid fucking  _ feelings. _

_ “I’m glad I get to come home to you,” Marvin had whispered in the dead of night, the words bridging the bedsheets between them. They’d had some stupid fight, something about Whizzer not cooking dinner, and the younger man had retreated to bed to stare at the wall and ignore the body warming the other side. Marvin had pressed a gentle hand to Whizzer’s exposed shoulder, running it down his arm as he shifted closer, “God knows I wouldn’t survive without you around.” It wasn’t an apology, but it was as close as Whizzer was gonna get.  _

He wonders what Marvin’s doing now. Probably having a shitty microwave dinner alone in his tiny apartment, his work jacket slung haphazardly over the counter and creasing further with every passing second. Either the radio is on, tuned to a boring jazz station, or the TV is playing an old movie Marvin is ignoring in favour of the evening paper. Maybe he’s at Trina’s house, losing horribly in a game of chess to his son. 

The thought of Jason brings a smile to Whizzer’s lips. He slumps against the bricks and sighs, trying to picture what Jason would look like now. Like Marvin, most likely, but with Trina’s gorgeous smile. He probably spouts the same bullshit as Mendel, but with a distinctly  _ Jason _ tone of exasperation. He’s probably as tall as Marvin by now, maybe even taller. Maybe one day he’ll even tower over Whizzer if he got his mothers genes.  _ I wonder if he ever signed up for baseball like I told him too _ . 

A choked noise from down the alley makes him jump, his hands scraping against the brick in his shock. Whizzer hisses and whips his head towards the sound, ready to tell whoever it is to fuck off, but the words die in his throat. 

“Marvin?” 

God, Marvin looks a mess. His hair is dishevelled as if he’s been running his hands through it over and over. He’s wearing his work clothes, the ugly plaid blazer and khaki combination that Whizzer always despised. 

_ Oh fuck, he’s crying _ . 

Marvin stares at him like he sees a ghost. His hands are clasped in front of him, knuckles white from the force of his squeezing. Whizzer straightens up against the wall and tries to ignore the punch to the chest that is the sight of his ex-lover. 

“What… What are you doing here?” Whizzer blurts. 

Marvin presses his trembling lips together and shakes his head, turning away to push a hand through his hair. He makes a weird noise like he’s trying to breathe, but it gets caught in his throat. Whizzer finds himself stumbling forward, hands lifting to grab his shoulders or grasp his face or  _ something  _ to make the tears stop, but Marvin steps away, holding up a hand. He runs the other over his face and takes a deep breath, finally composing himself. Whizzer feels his fingers twitch again, his hands begging to run themselves through Marvin’s dishevelled hair and hold him still. 

Marvin breathes deeply and then says, “You were amazing tonight.” 

It’s nothing, just a stupid comment, but it’s not said maliciously. It’s said  _ honestly _ . Whizzer’s breath catches. 

“You-” Marvin chokes, the words sounding almost painful, and he finally turns to look at him, “You sounded amazing. You were amazing. God _ ,  _ Whizzer,  _ I missed you so much. _ ” 

It’s all Whizzer needs to surge forward and wrap his arms around Marvin’s neck. Maybe it’s the drinks, or the adrenaline of performing, or that  _ stupid song, _ but Whizzer wants to hold Marvin and never let him go. Marvin gasps but doesn’t pull away, only settles his hands on Whizzer’s waist and squeezes. 

He shouldn’t be doing this. Falling back into Marvin’s arms was never part of his plan.  _ Seeing  _ Marvin after all these years was never part of the plan. But try as he might, Whizzer can’t help melting into those strong arms and burying his face in Marvin’s hair. The familiar scent of Marvin’s cologne fills his senses and makes his brain go fuzzy. 

“Whizzer,” Marvin practically sobs, digging his fingers into Whizzer’s jacket hard enough to tear, “ _ Baby _ .” 

Whizzer laughs suddenly, elated at the familiar pet name falling from Marvin’s lips. Marvin pulls back at the noise, blue eyes still shining from tears, but Whizzer cups his face in his hands before he can utter a word. 

“Marvin,” he whispers. Marvin stares back at him, eyes tracing over Whizzer’s face like he can’t believe he’s actually there, holding him. Whizzer runs a thumb over his cheek. 

They shouldn’t be doing this.  _ We need to talk _ , Whizzer wants to say. We _ need to figure out what the hell happened. _

Instead, he kisses him. 

  
  


\--

  
  


“Was it about me?” Marvin asks hours later, when they’re sweaty and sated, tangled in Marvin’s bedsheets. His bedroom window is open, letting the noise of the city and a cool breeze flow in and brush over Whizzer’s skin. He’s on his side, eyes trained on Whizzer’s cheek, his hand absentmindedly tracing patterns on the taught skin of his lover’s stomach. 

Whizzer breaks his gaze away from the ceiling to look at the older man, who openly stares back. The moonlight streaming through the window makes Marvin look almost ethereal. It highlights the curve of his bicep, exposes the mess of hickies strewn across his neck and collar. It weaves through his hair, the mess of curls almost blonde in the cool light, like a halo around his handsome face.  _ He looks beautiful like this _ , Whizzer thinks. 

Whizzer tilts his chin forward, and Marvin comes as if beckoned, meeting him in the middle to press their lips together. It’s not like the kisses from two years ago. It’s soft and sweet, almost as if they were teenagers making love for the first time. Marvin swipes his tongue along Whizzer’s bottom lip but pulls away before the younger can take it any further. Whizzer chases him, rolling onto his side to bury a hand in his hair and pull him back in. Marvin smiles into the kiss but again pulls away too quickly. 

“The song?” he questions softly, pressing featherlight kisses to Whizzer’s wrist, “Was it about me?” 

Whizzer looks at him for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, honey,” he answers, trying not to grin at the tiny shudder the name elicits, “It’s about a man that got away.” 

Whizzer tugs him forward again, kissing him gently. He sighs, eyes sliding shut as Whizzer rolls on top of him, the sheets falling away as he sinks onto his elbows, legs slung either side of Marvin’s waist. Marvin wraps a hand over his thigh and squeezes. 

“You’re right here,” Whizzer whispers between kisses, “and I’ll be damned if I let you get away.” 

Marvin grins so wide it breaks the kiss. In a show of strength that never fails to make Whizzer’s heart flutter, he rolls them over, so Whizzer is spread out beneath him. He uses the hand gripping Whizzer’s thigh to hitch his leg over his hip and buries the other in Whizzer’s hair. 

Marvin kisses his forehead and replies, “As if I could stay away for too long.” 

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell i got lazy at the end?
> 
> I'm really into falsettos so I might write more if yall want me too!!
> 
> [my unofficial whizzvin playlist that i listened to while writing this](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4SIKnm8dR3edOJm9K0J93i?si=mJ8L9e2YRPmQsJqt4yf_vw)
> 
> let me know what u thought


End file.
